Décalage
by Countess Millarca
Summary: Time never heals and bleeding wounds never close, unless the one who inflicts them takes mercy on his victim. Drabble-esque.
1. Victim of Time

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. All rights belong to Kubo, Tite.**

Time – such a chimerical concept. Fragile. Bendable. When did she stop trying to piece together the whimsical fragments that make _time_? The day she was accepted into the Kuchiki family – became _Kuchiki_, Rukia – and was_ Rukia_ nevermore? The day Kaien-dono died in her arms and she tasted unknown despair? The day she killed him once more and bathed in the known despair? The day she could no longer see her reflection in Ichigo's sunburned depths and felt aching envy at his gift? Rukia would give anything to not be the one who remained. If only time would_ stop_ – if only.

**Word Count: 100**

**A/N: I really wished to make this a chapter story, but I have little time for fanfiction and countless fics to update already. Still, the idea was born, words came, and so I compromised with making this a drabble series. Drabble length with vary and updates will be sporadic. Canon divergence. Takes place after Ichigo lost his Shinigami powers when he defeated Aizen. I probably will never write another author's note, so forgive this one for being so lengthy.**


	2. Enough Is Enough

"Have you grown taller, Ichigo?" Rukia forgets herself and asks aloud, but then she remembers that it doesn't matter if she speaks or not – he cannot hear her either way. Walking side by side on his way to school every morning gives her a much needed sense of familiarity. Even if Ichigo cannot see her or talk to her or touch her. She brings out her sketchbook and draws the daily little moments that make Ichigo's life so very human – going to school, studying, hanging out with friends, eating dinner with family. Before she knows it, she has grown accustomed to this routine without her conscious approval.

She knows she must stop; she can see it in Inoue's saddened gaze, Ishida's averted stare, Sado's downcast expression. They all see her but never acknowledge her presence. Rukia understands they are merely trying to protect Ichigo and she feels thankful to them. Yet, she can never halt the sting of rejection piercing through her heart whenever she happens to catch a glimpse of concealed pity in their eyes.

"Enough – I need to stop," Rukia repeats this mantra to herself each and every night as she watches Ichigo's sleeping profile, yet every morning she relents and follows after him, uncaring of the repercussions.

"Enough – you need to stop." The same words, but not the same voice. This utterance is low. Heavy. Masculine. It's Renji's voice that finally succeeds in breaking her out of this endless circle of misery and self-punishment. She takes his hand and allows him to lead her back home because it's larger than hers and he faintly reminds her of Ichigo. Shinigami must not have contact with humans and she has broken this rule countless times before. Perhaps, Byakuya was right all along – breaking the rules is breaking one's soul.

**Word Count: 300**


	3. To Be a Woman

"Your new hairstyle suits you very much, Rukia," Ukitake compliments and smiles one of his easy smiles. Rukia knows he doesn't mean anything by it as he always has a friendly demeanor with everyone around him, but that doesn't lessen the effect of his gracious comment.

"Thank you, Ukitake-taichō. I felt it was time for a… change," Rukia returns with a small bow of her head. Her voice is low and laced with hints of embarrassment and pleasure.

She raises a hand absent-mindedly, slender fingers brushing against the soft locks caressing the nape of her neck before she lowers it to her lap once more. Foolish. Shinigami are not supposed to be males or females but soldiers. A mere compliment – spoken without real intent – should not elicit such a reaction in her but it _does_. No man has ever looked at her as a woman, her taichō least of all, but she thinks it would not be an unwelcome action. After all, were she not _woman_, she would not have suffered such heartache at the loss of _man_. Ichigo. It is too soon to utter the name aloud, but her mind has no qualms over torturing her with the sweetness of its echo time and again.

"What did you wish to speak with me about?" Ukitake's kind timbre breaks through her faraway musings, bringing her back in the present.

Rukia refills her captain's cup with tea in an attempt to gather her straying thoughts before she speaks again. The thick aromatic fragrance of jasmine saturates the air she breathes, nearly choking her with its cloying scent.

"I would like to be considered for a seated position in the next evaluation," Rukia utters with the barest tinge of hesitation before she lifts her heavy lids, icy mauve boring into warm chestnut. Myriad sentiments shimmer in her dark depths – determination, longing, anguish – before she hides them under a façade of cheerful expectancy.

"You are aware that I will have to notify Byakuya regarding this matter, yes? Being a seated officer will put you in many dangerous and unfavorable situations." Ukitake shows no outward sign of consternation or recrimination, yet the slight tightening around his eyes tells her of his discomfort.

"Yes." Rukia knows she is being selfish, asking her taichō to mediate in her favor, but she cannot face her brother on her own. She cannot face herself yet – much less Byakuya.

**Word Count: 400**


	4. Cold Nobility

This is the third time Jūshirō has visited the Kuchiki estate, yet it seems as if nothing has changed since the last time he stepped foot in the mansion. He cannot fathom how this place can stay untouched by time, yet nobility has always been as such. Nothing ever changes here – not the buildings, not the people, not even the very air.

The first time he came was when Rukia joined his squad. He had been bedridden at the time, hence missing her initiation ceremony, yet he could never purge from memory the first time he laid eyes upon their new recruit. Jūshirō had wondered if the fever had caused him to hallucinate because her resemblance with the ghost of the past was unmistakable. Then he had heard Kaien call her by name – _Kuchiki_ – and he knew the terrible reality that surrounded the female shinigami.

"_You are making a mistake, Byakuya. She is not Hisana – and she will never be what you wish. Do not allow grief to overcome your better judgment._" Jūshirō had attempted to reason with Byakuya over his decision to accept Rukia into the Kuchiki household. She was a young girl, unaccustomed to nobility's rules, and Jūshirō had feared she would wither and die away under the heavy burden of one who bears the Kuchiki name. He had been _right _and _wrong_.

The second time he visited was after Kaien had fallen at the hands of that same young girl. Jūshirō was certain Rukia would finally crumble under the weight of her loss, for Kaien had been her _only _pillar of strength. Byakuya had never been one for delicacy or comfort. Jūshirō had an ugly suspicion that allowing Rukia to remain in the Kuchiki mansion would slowly cause her to fade into nothingness. He had decided then to whisk her away, sending her to the real world, far from the icy clutches of the noble emptiness that awaited her back home.

"_She is as much a member of my squad as she is a Kuchiki. I have allowed you to meddle in the 13__th__ Squad's affairs out of courtesy to your late grandfather but no more, Byakuya._" Jūshirō had held his ground in the face of the perpetual apathy that was Kuchiki, Byakuya. He could discern the other captain's displeasure by the slight vibrations in his tightly sealed reiatsu, but Byakuya had made no verbal attempt to dispute him – as always.

Jūshirō is not young by years or wisdom, yet even he can never decipher the mystery that shrouds this taciturn man. He often wonders what might have happened to the hot-tempered young boy Byakuya had once been, yet it is not his place to question the way the Kuchiki household raises its clan heads. Rukia, though, he has grown quite fond of. No – Jūshirō will not allow them to extinguish the little spark of life Kaien had strived so hard to breathe into her if he could help it. Thus, he assumes the mantle of a taichō and buries any remaining kindness for the boy he had once known.

"Rukia will be counted as a candidate for a seated position in the next evaluation," Jūshirō states with a firm tone unfitting of his usual gentle timbre, his russet gaze mirroring the ashen frost of Byakuya's gray eyes. He does not speak a word more as he turns to leave, but an imperceptible motion halts his steps.

"Do as you please, Ukitake." The words are uttered with the known dispassionate baritone of Byakuya's voice, but Jūshirō understands the veiled request behind the indifference. _Take care of Rukia._

**Word Count: 600**


	5. To Never Touch

"What's with these weak attacks? Is that all you've got?" Renji banters with her in an attempt to rouse a flicker of Rukia's competitive nature as he parries her strike with ease.

"You're one to talk. I still can't believe they let you become a fukutaichō with your _poor _kidō skills. Byakuya-niisama is a splendid kidō master. The fact that you're still so lacking is astounding," Rukia returns with a playful smirk, appreciating the distraction Renji provides. He has always been supportive and never makes things difficult for her. Rukia feels the need to reassure him that she is fine – even if she is _not_.

"Why you little – I'll make you eat those words! Shakkahō!" Renji yells over a blinding explosion of crimson swirling energy. Rukia leaps back swiftly, avoiding the brunt of his – yet again – unsuccessful kidō spell. The corners of her lips curve in an amused grin as she peruses Renji's charred appearance through misty ringlets of smoke.

"You fool – when will you ever learn?" Rukia teases him with a small shake of her head, exhaling a long sigh.

"It won't always be like this, you'll see – you got lucky I'm tired from my patrol today," Renji comes up with a weak excuse for his spell blowing up on him as usual, but he does not care that he makes a fool of himself if it brings that smile on Rukia's face. He will play the fool again, and again, and again – if only Rukia smiles.

Renji would do _anything _for things to be as they were, but he knows it is a wish that can never be. He can _never_ turn back time. Renji has never been one to regret or worry over his actions' consequences, yet he regrets _one _thing – not stopping Rukia when he should have. That fated day, when Kuchiki-taichō appeared in the academy to steal her away, Renji thought Rukia would be better off being a noble's relative, but he had been _wrong_. If he had known the agony Rukia would have to experience, he would have fought for her tooth and nail, until the last howl had died in his throat – but it is too _late_.

He thinks back on those days and how lost Rukia had seemed, as if she would shatter if one dared touch even a silken strand of her hair. Renji did not have the confidence to touch her for this fear, and so he had never done as such. Cowardice. Her fukutaichō had been the one to touch her when Renji couldn't; Kaien had been the one to revive Rukia's dwindling flame when Renji couldn't. Once more, Renji had lost her to another man because he did not dare – _touch_ her.

Renji had swallowed his wounded pride once again then, recognized he had lost the privilege of being by Rukia's side because he was afraid – too damn afraid. When Kaien was no longer by her side, he had been even more afraid to reach out because Rukia had seemed even more lost than before. Cowardice – again. An orange haired _kid _– a human – had shown more courage, more bravery than him.

He, who has lived far longer than this kid, can never take that first step, can never reach out for fear of – what? Renji cannot even put a name to this baseless fear. In his mind, there is only _Rukia _and _fear_ and _loss_. But neither Kaien nor Ichigo is here anymore. There is only Renji and Rukia and Byakuya – and fear.

_Am I destined to always yearn for but never touch? To howl but not claim?_

**Word Count: 600**


	6. A Thousand Silences

_I have to tell him; Ukitake-taichō must have told him already. I need to stop hiding. _Rukia knows she cannot delay this ineludible conversation for long, yet she can never choose a correct moment to speak. Twice a day she crosses paths with Byakuya; twice her words die in her throat before she has a chance to utter them.

Rukia struggles to master the strength needed to speak her mind, make her wants known, yet she only ever breathes a subdued _ohayō gozaimasu, niisama _and a softly whispered _oyasuminasai, niisama_ – good morning and good night – even though there is nothing _good _about her mornings or her nights anymore. Rukia suspects the same of Byakuya's mornings and nights as well.

Has her brother ever smiled, cried, laughed? No – at least never in her presence. Rukia reasons he must have at some distant time in the presence of another person. Hisana. Her elder sister must have witnessed his smile, seen his tears, heard his laughter. But Hisana is not here to witness or see or hear now, and Byakuya has no reason to smile or cry or laugh.

Rukia shares nothing with Byakuya except for this pain – the pain of loss. They both have loved; they both have lost. She likes to believe this connects them in some deeper way than a mere surname, but it is a voiceless bond. Byakuya never feels the need to talk, though not for lack of words, and Rukia knows she needs to talk but cannot speak the words. Tonight though – tonight she _will _talk. Rukia will part her sealed lips to say not good morning or good night for the first time, because she cannot hide behind silence any longer and the time is right. Under the moonshine, into the night – the time is right.

**Word Count: 300**


	7. After the Rain

A hazy dark curtain of midnight blue blankets Rukia as she walks leisurely towards the secluded pavilion in the farthermost corner of the mansion. She is well aware that Byakuya seldom spends his nights elsewhere but there. What reason he might have for doing so is a mystery to her, but Rukia has found herself drawn to the solitary back of the silent man gazing at the luminescent moon in that place time and again. She assumes he always knows she hides in the elusive shadows, but Byakuya never voices a word of admonishment or turns her away.

A glimmer of pure white amidst the dusky blackness catches Rukia's attention and she tears her gaze away from the moonlight. Byakuya is still clad in his captain's attire, the ivory haori and black shihakushō creating a stark contrast with the pale rouge of the dewy blossoms all around him. The wind carries the taste of petrichor and sakura and male. How very fitting, she thinks.

"I know you are there, Rukia." The rich silk of Byakuya's baritone shatters the stillness of the night, eliciting a slight flutter in her heartbeat. It is the first time he has acknowledged her presence, and it is the first time Rukia has dared to come out of the shadows.

"I wished to speak with you, niisama. I have decided to apply for a seated position." Rukia understands her brother would not appreciate idle conversation – not in_ this_ place. She can tell by the imperceptible tensing of his jaw as he tilts his head to grace her with his regal profile. Thick black lashes flutter once then lower over smoky pools of silver, but Rukia sees the jaded shimmer in his depths before they meet the smoothness of his skin. How long has it been since he had truly slept, she wonders soundlessly.

"Ukitake informed me of this matter." Byakuya returns in a stoic manner, his utterance low. Slow. Hollow. His long neck turns in a graceful arc, his heavy lids ascend, ashen gaze fixated on the seductive incandescence of the moon, and Rukia instinctively knows she is being dismissed.

"Niisama –" she whispers but stops, inhales a deep breath then begins anew, "Oyasuminasai, niisama." These are not the words Rukia wishes to say, but they are the only ones she can speak. To her eyes, at that moment, under the starlight, Byakuya looks devastatingly _alone_.

**Word Count: 400**


	8. The Price of Elegance

**Hashi: Chopsticks**

Rukia waits in tense silence for Byakuya to give permission for breakfast to commence. Breakfast in the Kuchiki household is almost a ritualistic procedure, Rukia and Byakuya being the sole participants. The servants prepare a variety of dishes based on their preferences then leave them alone until otherwise summoned.

Byakuya reaches for his wooden chopsticks and Rukia waits patiently until he has taken the first bite. The clan head must always eat first then she is to follow. Even such a small matter as breakfast is bound by rules in the Kuchiki estate.

Rukia observes with veiled curiosity and slight envy as Byakuya eats in an orderly fashion. Everything he does carry an air of elegance she couldn't hope to achieve even after centuries of strict practice. She thinks it is a quality someone is born with, not tutored in.

"Is the food not to your liking today, Rukia?" Byakuya asks, voice low and passive, eyes half lidded and piercing.

She must have dozed off long enough in her peculiar musings because she abruptly finds her gaze entrapped by Byakuya's dark taupe orbs. Rukia fidgets nervously with her hashi, a wave of embarrassment and discomfort washing over her at having been caught staring at him.

"Forgive me, niisama. I was lost in deep thought and was distracted for a moment. The food is exquisite as always," Rukia excuses herself with a small bow, unable to withstand the weight of his penetrating gaze any longer.

"Your examination occurs today, correct? Take care not to bring shame to the Kuchiki name," Byakuya more states than questions, the cold timbre of his voice a tangible chill on her skin. Rukia shivers at the frigid sound then straightens her back before she speaks again.

"I will try my utmost best, niisama," she returns in a hushed vow, biting her lower lip on instinct. The copper taste of blood saturates her tongue, a harsh reminder of her weak nature. For once, she wishes to not be _Rukia _but _Kuchiki_. If she were a Kuchiki in true meaning like Byakuya then she wouldn't worry over failure because her excellence would be guaranteed. Yet, she knows it is wistful thinking on her part, a wish that can never be. Rukia can never reach the standards Byakuya requires, and Byakuya can never lower his expectations for Rukia's sake because both are _Kuchiki – _and Kuchiki simply _do not_ _fail_.

**Word Count: 400**


	9. Celebrate the Pain

"Congratulations on becoming 4th Seat, Rukia. You have splendid kidō control and your shikai is as powerful as it is beautiful," Jūshirō compliments with an encouraging smile, his chestnut gaze shimmering with pride and appreciation.

"Y-you praise me too much, Ukitake-taichō! I'm unworthy of such –" Rukia argues with a slight stutter, her cheeks shaded a faint rosy hue, but an angry yell interrupts her before she has a chance to finish her sentence.

"What nonsense are you spewing, Kotsubaki!? _I _am the official 3rd Seat and you were the _former _4th Seat – now that Rukia has been promoted. That makes you the _5__th_ Seat now, you hairy gorilla!" Kiyone shouts in a shrill voice, irritation bleeding in her gray gaze as she stares the male shinigami down.

"Bullshit, you snot nosed monkey! _You _are the 5th Seat now and _I _am the 3rd Seat!" Sentarō counters with a deafening shout, veins bulging notably on his forehead, causing the petite shinigami to cover her ears in pain.

"Right, taichō!?" both holler with indignation as they turn to their captain for verification with expectant expressions.

"Calm down, Kiyone, Sentarō. You are co-3rd Seats; neither of you has been demoted. Let us have some cookies and tea and celebrate Rukia's promotion," Jūshirō tries to mediate the tense situation with a placating smile as if talking to aggravated children while Rukia stifles a laugh, her mortification all but forgotten thanks to their lively antics.

"A banquet – what a wonderful idea, taichō! I will make the preparations!" Kiyone exclaims with excitement, gazing at her captain starry-eyed.

"A… banquet? I meant a small gather–" Jūshirō makes a valiant effort to dissuade the dynamic duo from blowing this out of proportions, but the die has been cast.

"I will be the one to prepare the banquet, monkey-woman! You'll mess up!" Sentarō's loud voice echoes throughout the 13th Squad's barracks as both sprint away in a race to perform this duty first.

"I am sorry, Ukitake-taichō. I should have stopped them before things escalated," Rukia apologizes with a small bow, knowing her captain is in no position to be attending celebratory events.

"It's not your fault, Rukia. Besides, a banquet is not such a bad idea now that I think of it. My weak constitution hasn't allowed for lively gatherings, but I feel the squad is in need of some merriment lately," Jūshirō contemplates with a forlorn expression, recalling the losses they suffered during Aizen's betrayal.

They have all taken damage – some emotional, some physical, most of them both. Yet, they have survived the aftermath of the war because none is alone. Jūshirō wants to tell Rukia that it is alright to share her burdens with others – to cry and yell and shatter into myriad pieces – because there are people close by willing to help her heal. He is afraid that if Rukia continues to keep her feelings sealed within her soul then she will never be able to mend the pieces back together. Yet, Jūshirō knows that if he tells her that, she will think herself weak for not being able to overcome her darkness on her own, and so he refrains. He will wait for Rukia to come to him – even though he knows she never will.

"Why don't you invite Abarai? You and he are close friends. I'm sure he would be happy to celebrate your achievements," Jūshirō offers softly, aching kindness dancing in his brown pools. Rukia may never reach out to him, but there are others. He can only hope that she will go to them before it is too late.

**Word Count: 600**


	10. Sweet Apathy

Rukia observes the inebriated people all around her with mild amusement and exasperation. It is supposed to be a tame event, yet Kiyone and Sentarō have managed to turn this into a drinking contest through their usual antics. Before she knows it, members of other squads have joined in the celebration – Kyōraku-taichō first of all.

Rukia's brows knit with disapproval as she watches the 8th Squad captain attempting to drag Ukitake-taichō into a drinking bet. She understands that these two have a bond far deeper than anyone can fathom, but she still contemplates whether her captain is in a condition for such strenuous activities. However, a large shadow obstructs her vision abruptly, causing her to lose her train of thought.

"What's with the long face, Rukia? Did you think we gathered here to see your brooding mug? Drink some sake and cheer up! You did well becoming a 4th seat… not that you could become a lieutenant though. You still have a loooong way to go if you wanna catch up to me," Renji jests in his usual manner as he drapes an arm over Rukia's shoulders casually. His cheeks are flushed a faint scarlet shade, courtesy of high alcohol consumption. Renji knows he would not have been able to take such liberties otherwise, and so he chooses to drown himself in the seductive lure of the strong sake. He can always blame his actions to alcohol later, but for now he simply doesn't give a damn.

"And make a fool of myself like you? No, thank you," Rukia shakes her head even as her lips curve in semblance of a mischievous smile.

"You're always so tense and serious. It would do you good to loosen up a little. Even your captain is living it up!" Renji tilts his head towards the direction of Kyōraku and Ukitake.

"You worry about _your _Captain and let me worry about mine," Rukia returns with a small huff as she extricates herself from his loose embrace.

"What are you saying? Kuchiki-taichō isn't even her-" Renji starts to argue, but stops midsentence, his gaze widening comically at the sight of Byakuya standing tall and silent a few feet away.

"You're hopeless…" Rukia chuckles as she prepares a tray with a small sake jug and two cups. "I will attend to niisama instead of his _capable _fukutaichō."

"You should call it a night," Rukia then adds with a softer nuance, seeing Renji's crestfallen expression.

"Yeah, I think I've had a bit too much," Renji agrees with a short laugh, the sound hollow, strained. He bids Rukia goodnight and turns to leave, stealing a last glance at her straight back as she approaches his captain.

_Why are you here? Kuchiki, Byakuya, why are you always… _he muses within his drunken haze, resignation and self-loath settling in the pits of his stomach. Shoulders hung low, he disappears from the banquet as if he never attended at all.

"Konbanwa, niisama. Allow me to pour you a cup of sake," Rukia inclines her head in a small bow and busies herself with the sake without raising her gaze. She knows her captain must have informed him of the celebration, but she didn't expect him to actually show up.

"You have achieved 4th Seat status," Byakuya states, his deep voice devoid of emotion.

His rich timbre does not carry the known frost whenever he addresses her, but she cannot decipher if he is pleased or disappointed with her achievement either. She offers him a full cup in a demure manner, daring to chance a glance up.

"Well done," Byakuya utters in the same stoic voice, his regal features etched in statuesque elegance – except his _eyes_. There is unnamed emotion slithering within the darkness of his eyes. The veiled gentleness of his gaze belies the coated indifference of his words.

_Sweet apathy_, Rukia thinks. Her lids lower as she brings the cup to her lips, the potent taste of sake burning her throat like slow fire. Byakuya is gone when she raises her thick lashes, but she already knows that.

_What awkward beings we are, niisama… _ Rukia exhales a soft sigh, the heat of Byakuya's gaze still lingering heavy on her skin.

**Word Count: 700**


	11. Bladed Words

"You wish to receive training?" Byakuya asks without the barest hint of surprise. He casts down a smoky gaze, traces of obsidian blue pooling in his depths, reminding Rukia of abysmal waters.

"If you would be so kind as to spare some of your time, I would be grateful, niisama – onegai itashimasu," Rukia returns with a respectful timbre, her short coal locks fanning out on the tatami floor as she lowers herself to her knees in the appropriate posture. She feels thankful for the formalities as she cannot bear to gaze into his arcane eyes for long – as always. Rukia can never fathom the reason behind her weakness against his eyes, but she likens them to a prison of the blackest ocean. If she dares venture too far, she might drown one day.

"Follow after me." Byakuya spares a lingering glance at the whiteness of her delicate neck before he walks away. His measured steps are soundless as he makes his way towards the training grounds with Rukia closely behind him.

He stops to slide open the patterned doors before he walks to the right end of the large chamber. Rukia knows to take her place at a reasonable distance opposite of him without questions asked. Her cobalt gaze widens slightly when Byakuya unsheathes his sword, catching her unaware of his intentions. She had reasoned they would spar with bokutō this first time, yet the gleaming metal of her brother's blade beckons for her own. She bends her waist in a deep bow as is customary then draws her sword.

"Come at me," Byakuya commands when she has taken her stance. His deep voice echoes in the large chamber, magnifying the heaviness in her chest.

Rukia takes a shallow breath, steadying herself before she lunges forward in a swift motion. She understands that Byakuya merely wishes to test her ability this first time, so she presses with all her might when their swords meet. Ambition, determination, frustration, pain – her blade shimmers white with all of her repressed feelings, allowing Byakuya to catch a silent glimpse of the tempest raging inside of her. Rukia may never be able to speak with words her wants and worries, but Sode no Shirayuki will speak for her master's will regardless.

"Again," Byakuya orders with the merest nod of acknowledgment after he pushes her back with an elegant arc of his sword. He takes not one step forward or backward while he awaits Rukia to gather her strength.

"Hai," Rukia returns with more confidence than before, feeling a strange elation after his effortless parry. His voice is bathed in deceptive ice as he utters the command, but Rukia understands the favor he bestows upon her. He could have instructed her on how to correct her stance or how to refine her style, yet he asks for another confrontation. _Do you wish to hear my voice, niisama? _Rukia guesses by his choice, head cocked to the side and eyes brimming with longing. Another forceful attack, another effortless parry – again, and again, and again – until she is left panting breathlessly, her sword hilt tinted with crimson liquid in her clutch.

"Rukia," Byakuya speaks her name, the sound slow, inviting. She raises her gaze to his level, indigo hues painted with desire to hear the sound _again_ for some inexplicable reason.

"_Again_," Rukia pleads with him without really knowing for what as she charges forward, sapphire fire burning in her orbs.

"Rukia," she stills at the low whisper – close, so close she can almost taste him on her skin. His warm breath titillates the shell of her sensitive ear as he leans forward, "Tomorrow."

She must have fallen into a weightless spell because when the shadows in her eyes disperse, she finds her blade trapped in the smoothness of his hand, his own sword sheathed. Rukia panics at the sight, her hand stilling on her zanpakutō lest she injures him unwittingly, but she needn't have feared for such a thing. She watches in glazed amazement as he caresses the gleaming metal once before he releases it in her custody.

"Tomorrow," Byakuya repeats before he leaves, the solemn word a phantom lick in the edge of her shaken consciousness.

**Word Count: 700**


End file.
